


Control By Another Name

by Walor



Series: Disciplinary Action [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Fight Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Praise Kink, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: Slade has a lot of pent-up aggression and handles physical violence like an old hat. Wintergreen has an idea on how to kill two birds with one stone.





	Control By Another Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delanoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delanoble/gifts).



> Happy Birthday
> 
> Apologies for atrocious grammar/spelling errors. It wouldn't be a fic by me if there weren't any.

Slade's knuckles, though bandaged and taped, still ache from the impact of Walsh's jaw against them.

That's the only thing that Major William "Jack" Walsh had going for him anyway, an incredibly thick skull. He was dense, overly violent to the point of concern, and made up of bulging muscles and height that did little good when the brain that piloted it was no bigger than a baked bean. Had it not been for the excessively boney mass of said skull Slade would have knocked Walsh into a coma for the next seven years. If he were any luckier it would have been ten. As it stands, Slade is nineteen, 5'11 and one hundred and sixty-five pounds soaking wet. Walsh is 6'5, over two hundred and thirty pounds with a head the size of a fat watermelon. He’s also very unlucky—see above, sold to a mob boss to pay off the gambling debts of an uncaring father. Had it not been for the quick intervention of their superiors it would have been a choice of fighting smart, which meant running away to avoid getting wrapped up in his meaty paws, or being stupid and, possibly, getting his right arm broken like a brittle twig.

Lieutenant-colonel Trevor, and that burns Slade down to his bones that he had _Steve_ coming to his aid, was the one to pull Walsh off him. Technically, he didn’t pull Walsh off him either. Just whistled and like a well-trained dog Walsh dropped his fists and stood at attention. Which left Slade standing there with a throbbing hand like an asshole.

“Walsh, go cool off,” Steve barked and turned to Slade with a tired reproachful glare. “Really, again?” Then, like the good rule-follower he was, sent Slade packing straight to their overseeing officer; Wintergreen.

Slade was barely inside the office before William was pulling the ebony dark riding crop off the wall and pointing to his desk. “Come here, Major.”

He doesn't know how long he's been standing, stripped nude with his forehead a mere hair's length away from the wall. Hands folded behind his back while William works at his desk. Men have come in, no doubt seeing Slade's ram-rod straight back in the corner, ass a vivid, painful purple and red from the whipping he'd taken from earlier. Which, in all honesty, made the flaring aches a hundred times worse if he was going to be honest. The sting had gradually faded a little after the first hour, but his legs were quaking as badly as leaves in the wind. Sweat gathering in the hollow of his knees and along the dip in his back. William said next to nothing, only offering a correction when he shifted a fraction of an inch. Alongside getting up from the desk and slapping another welt on to the already full collection on his backside. Then returned to his work without so much as a word.

Slade learned after the first couple cracks and hasn't moved since.

William finally approaches him once the sun starts to dip below the English countryside, filling the office with a bright, soft light.

"You may relax, now, Slade," and he does, barely able to keep on his feet as he lowers himself to the floor to his knees. He’s learned that even though he’s been given permission to ease his position, that doing anything beyond that often means a repeating the drill.

It's another twenty minutes before William speaks again. "Why did you attack, Walsh?"

Concentrating his energy on staying absolutely still has sapped away his need to be a smartass. So he shrugs and closes his eyes, resting his hands on the curve of his knees. Biting his lips when the rough skin of his heels digs into the raw flesh of his ass. "Because he insulted me. So, I showed him how much I care about him being an asshole. Do I need a better reason?"

That hardly satisfies William by the dour look on his face. Sitting back in his chair he runs a hand over his chin and pinches the skin on the bridge of his nose. "Jack is your squad mate. How are you supposed to trust him with your life if you can barely restrain yourself from knocking his teeth out whenever he’s rude? Which, as you know, is quite often for Jack.”

Slade doesn’t bother hiding his disgust. "To be frank, sir, I’d rather kill myself before I’d end up in a position where I'd depend on Jack for survival."

"That, you see, is your problem, Major Wilson. You don't allow yourself to trust anyone. You let the aggression, the need to be right, to be in control your utmost priority. It overwhelms and takes over, disallowing you from becoming a part of a functioning team. Too busy concentrating on when the next person will screw up to prove you can only depend on yourself.” William fixes him with a look that contains such pity Slade considers the punishment that would come from assaulting a superior officer. If only to replace that sad kindness with anger. “That's no way to live, boy."

Doesn’t matter. "It's the only way to ensure survival."

"Not in the modern world. I won't have you going around disrespecting your fellow officers because you're looking for an outlet for your extra-aggression." Wintergreen stands from his desk and walks to the window. Clasps his hands behind his back and fixes his soft gaze on the long shadows of the military barracks stretching across the dirt. Slade remains where he is, hands on his knees, back straight.

"I thought that was what these sessions were supposed to solve, General," Slade draws out his response, eying Wintergreen with a firmly raised brow. "I thought this was supposed to help me manage. If I’m out there, assaulting officers then you aren't doing a very good job, are you?"

William's face falls with a scowl. "Don't berate me with petty insults, boy. I'm currently the only man you have on your side. If you continue to disrespect me, I'll show you what it will be like without my protection."

"I didn't mean to insult you, sir. I just hardly see the point of standing in a corner all day and how its supposed to help me with anger management." Slade had grown up with people thinking they could train him with a firm hand. His father, Falcone, Rossi, his drill sergeants at Camp Washington. Everyone tried, none succeeded. If there was anything Slade could do exceptionally well it was tolerating abuse. It's how he grew up. With the hand of Carmine or Rossi choking the life out of him or the rough hand of his father cracking down on his soft head. Wintergreen was hardly an exception. Hardly a surprise that his attempts to control him had fallen so pathetically short.

William stares at him closely. Eyes raking along the lines of Slade's face, particularly on the subtle bow of his lips. Stepping away from the window, William walks the length of the room, admiring the endless line of plaques dedicated to his military achievements. Victoria Cross, George Cross, dozens upon dozens. He stops in front of Slade after completing a near circle of the room and crouches down in front of him. William’s eyes are dark pools of amber with flecks of subtle gold. Like staring into the sky of a thunderstorm, crackling overhead with the rippling lines of lightning. Uncertain where the next bolt will strike next. Whatever William sees in Slade’s face makes him smile. "You are completely right, Slade. I haven't been doing this the right by with you."

Slade narrows his eyes. "Have you?"

"I haven't. Men like you, punishment, pain, it's nothing. What has your entire life been if not a repetitious cycle of overcoming and surviving? I shouldn't blame you for things like this. This brash outspoken violence. You expect it in return. It’s why you don’t shy away from the beat of a crop or the threat of a fist. It’s monotony. What you need instead is a lesson. One that goes against everything you know about discipline. If correctly administered should teach you how to better control your anger."

"And how do you expect to do that, Lieutenant General?" Slade tilts his head.

"Take care of your wounds and report back to me at oh five hundred hours tomorrow. We'll continue this conversation then." William stands and steps aside. “You may go.”

Slade rises on shaky feet, watching William with the same hesitance he would when dangerous men are given too much to drink. He gathers his clothes and tried not to shiver when he felt William's eyes burn on the red, sore curve of his ass as he bent over to collect his socks and boxers. Slides the clothes on, offers a salute and is out the door in less than a minute.

For the first time in a long time, Slade doesn't sleep that night.

* * *

The camp is in the middle of waking up by the time Slade finally makes it to William's office. He's early himself, at 4:50 waiting in the large and furnished room. The doors unlocked, no one is stupid enough to break into Wintergreen’s office unless they wanted three new holes added to their person. He's elected to stand. Ass still burning fiercely from yesterday and stares instead at the numerous amounts of medals that decorate the walls. Wintergreen apparently served in Korea, did a few stints in Vietnam under the guise of helping the French--when he was truly there to observe the treatment of the British liaisons--before returning to her Majesty's side where he trained troops to take out superhuman threats. Slade himself was currently in the running for one the experimental projects and if it weren't for William’s ability to call off Slade's recommendation he would have told the man to fuck himself the moment he proposed this “arrangement” to Slade. Dishonorable discharge be damned.

"Ah, Slade, you're early. Good. We can get right to it."

William walks into the office, polished and well-dressed despite the early hour. His mustache is neatly combed and hair slicked, altogether looking more the posh businessman on his way to have tea with the queen than a military general who had an affection for spanking and bondage. What Slade wouldn’t give to see one hair out of place. To see his “perfect” posture ruined in a haze of rage or, at the very least, see slight irritation on his strong jaw.

In his hands is a bundle of plain cloth that he sets down on his desk before he sits, opening his book from yesterday and continuing his work. “Go ahead and open it.”

Slade, with no other instructions, goes for the cloth bundle and unravels it. The object inside it makes him laugh. "What is this?"

"Your new uniform." Amusement gives way to abject horror.

It's pastel pink, that's the first thing Slade notices; a lacy, little, pink bra with flowery embroidery that curls around the cups with little roses over where his nipples are. A pink, silk bow connects the two ends together with two little metal clasps in the back. Alongside it is a pair of panties that barely look large enough for one ball let alone his entire cock that probably shows off the rounded curves of a woman's ass beautifully. There's a flowery garter belt and finally a pair of sheer, pink stockings. Every piece of lacey lingerie is delightfully soft to the touch and had it not been for the way William's brown eyes rested on him he would have rubbed his thumb along the bra or panties just to get a better feel of the smooth fabric on the calloused pads of his fingers.

"You're joking," Slade says because there's nothing else to say in the face of such absurdity.

"Do I look like the type of man that would waste time for a lark, Slade?” He doesn’t.

“I can’t wear this outside!” Slade shouts, then holds the underwear close to his chest, turning back towards the door. Afraid someone, like General Adeline to decide that moment as the proper one to burst in.

“I don't expect you to wear it instead of your uniform, don't be absurd. You’ll wear it under your fatigues throughout the course of the day and then return to me."

"I'm not wearing this," Slade says, holding out the offensive material. "I can't-I won't wear this."

"Why not? They're perfectly comfortable and a lot more flexible than your current pants. In fact, you should have a better range of movement in your legs. I even expect a higher quality performance from you today, Wilson."

Slade takes in a deep breath and repeats each word like he was talking to a two-year-old. "I'm not wearing this."

"As I recall we had an arrangement did we not? I’m to punish you how I deem fit in response for your transgressions to make sure you aren't let go from this project or the military. Most men would do anything to be in your position." There is such bewilderment clear on his face like he can’t believe Slade would protest to wearing such a thing.

"Most men aren't expected to wear a set of frilly lingerie because their commanding officer is a leech!"

"I won't deny you'd look darling in them, Slade, however, you said it yourself last night, didn't you? Pain is something you can endure and it's never taught you any lessons. I am being kind to you by allowing you to wear this under your clothes with only you and I knowing so. Of course, if you act up during drills and force them to strip down, then I assume everyone else would know. The men are no better than pairs of chattering schoolchildren sometimes."

"You can't expect me to do this." Slade looks down at the cloth in his hands.

"I don't expect you to do anything, Major. If you want to end things you can, it doesn't matter to me. Just know that I won't give you the benefit of the doubt when you start fights with your superiors again. There's nothing for me to lose should you leave, except for fine talent. But I have no use for talent, as great as it may be if the owner of it is an arsehole."

Slade closes his lips tightly. "How long would I have to wear this?"

"A day, as I said. I expect you to return to me after dinner and then I’ll see about getting it off."

Slade frowns. A whole day wearing this. What if someone saw him in the bathroom? His cheeks feel like they were about to burn off. "Okay, only a day."

Slade turns thinking of where he can possibly change without anyone seeing when William clears his throat.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Slade frowns. "To change?"

William motions to the office. "You have space, go on then."

Slade's never pinned William as being particularly lecherous in nature. He was a gentleman first and a soldier second, the first one to the door and the last one to exit the room. Pulling a chair out for the female officers and offering them a cup of water or tea during a break with a smile that fathers showed their excitable children rather than the grin of a catcalling pervert. "In here?"

"You won't have to worry about anyone coming in and seeing you. Besides, I wasn't born yesterday Slade as much as you'd liked to pretend it to be true. Think you can go about the day with those knickers stuffed in your mattress and change into them on your way to my office at the end? Absolutely not." William smiles then. That damned innocuous grin of his. "Well, you better get dressed if you don't want to be late, hm?"

William has seen him naked, last night being the most recent proof of the fact. But somehow the idea of William seeing him change into the lingerie seems so more intimate Slade is flushing a bright red as he slowly begins to undo the buttons on his shirt one by one.

For the most part, Wintergreen doesn't acknowledge him. Swamped in whatever numbers and letters he's currently calculating in his book. Slade closes his eyes and strips it off the rest of the way. He shucks his jacket to the floor before William clears his throat with a light sigh.

"Please fold your uniform Slade, honestly I expect you to have better manners than that."

Slade scowls, but picks up his jacket, folds it and places it on the ground. His undershirt follows then his boots, socks, pants and finally his boxers. He stares at the lingerie in his hand and starts by slipping on the thigh high socks. They go on easily. No harder than his own thick socks. They're comfortable, which is the only good thing Slade can say about them so far. Marveling at the way the hair on his legs almost disappears under the pink hue of the nylon. It looks like a shaved woman's legs and Slade tries to skim his fingertips along his calf in surprise.

He puts on the panties next and is glad to realize he misjudged the size. His cock and balls fit snuggly beneath the fabric, contained by a bouquet of lace flowers that curl around the head of his cock. He stands up straight and glances up for a moment to catch William leaning back in his chair watching Slade coolly.

Slade glowers and turns around to finish dressing. Quickly recognizes that William will get a better look at his ass that way and turns to the side instead. "This is so fucking weird."

"Then maybe next time you'll think twice before assaulting a fellow officer."

Slade frowns but pulls up the garter belt and clips it onto the thigh highs. Then he loops the bra straps over his shoulders and reaches back to clasp them. Finds he can't reach them and unsuccessfully tries to hook the small clasps three times. He's never actually had the chance to see a woman put a bra on--another thing Steve would mock him mercilessly for if he knew--and considers tying the back part together in a knot if only to flee from the office faster.

It's only years of training that keep him from leaping out of his skin when a hand, warm like the sun, rests on his shoulder. William laughs, a soft breathy laugh, in his ear and pulls Slade's hands away from the bra. "Let me get that for you, darling."

William pulls the bra tight to where Slade can feel it, like a thick band of fabric wrapped around his ribs and clasps the bra. If he thought he was going to be able to forget about this before, there is no way he will now. It constricts against his chest on every stuttering inhale. Why do women wear these things? It would be like going through the day purposefully trying to deprive yourself of oxygen.

"There we are," William says, hot like a furnace pressing up against Slade's back. "All wrapped up like a nice present."

"I agreed to put on the clothes, not have you whisper filth in my ear," Slade growls but hardly moves from his position. Only turning around to glare at William and wish at that moment he was taller if only so he could tower over him. William chuckles and brushes a hand against Slade's cheek before taking a step forward. Then another. Slowly walking him back until Slade hits the office wall on one of it's few stretches devoid of any sort of medal or hanging antiquities.

"You paint a pretty picture like this," he says, eyes raking over Slade's form. Attentive and careful, memorizing the way the lace curls across the tanned expanse of his skin. Slade does all he can to suppress the shiver that runs through his back. It's embarrassing, to feel so vulnerable like this. It's almost worse than their first meeting, tied down to his grand oak desk while William cracked hit upon hit on his back and thighs.

"Then the lingerie is doing its job," Slade says. William tilts his head and brushes a finger along the curve of his hip. He looks up at Slade, studying him intently for signs of distress or refusal. When he finds none, and that surprises Slade more than agreeing to wear the panties, he rests the hand fully on his hip. "I'm starting to regret this punishment."

"Oh?" Slade asks.

"I don't know whether it's supposed to be punishing you with humiliation," William tucks a finger beneath the edge of the panties. Pulls it back and lets it snap flush against Slade's skin. "Or me with making me wait."

"Didn't think too far ahead did you?" Slade smirks

"I should have never doubted how delectable you'd look tarted up like this, especially with that infuriatingly bright blush on your cheeks. Its absolutely sinful, darling."

"I aim to please," Slade says and gasps when William spanks the sore, tender skin of his back. Practically bumps right into William's chest.

"If that were true you might have behaved better in regards to treating your men with the respect they deserve."

"Where's the fun in that if you won't punish me? I like seeing you barely grasping your control." It startles Slade how true that is. How much he truly doesn't mind standing here like this, under William's enrapt and hot eyes. The way the cool calm that normally suffuses William's very being seemed dangerously thin, barely concealing whatever dark and intense thing that lurks behind the rich brown of his eyes.

"Then I do hope you'll think more about your reward for good behavior than mouthing off during training today." William steps away and Slade already misses the warmth of his hand on his hip. "Go on then, get to drill training or else Adeline will have my head."

Slade nods and quickly redresses, hoping that his half hard cock will disappear before long.

* * *

It never disappears

Slade should have expected it. William was, without a doubt, one of the biggest bastards Slade had ever had the misfortune of knowing. He should have realized that part of the "lesson" would include making Slade's life for the following twenty-four hours a living hell. William appears at Trevor's side halfway through morning drills. There to watch and critique them throughout the day. See how their progress was doing. Slade knows that William left that portion to Addie, an official member of the experimental military project they were recruiting men for. William had a lot more work involving the deciphering of military letters and spy information in regards to their current target, Basilisk. There was no way he had any free time to spend watching the men run multiple laps and carry logs over their shoulders all in the name of "progress."

Adeline must have known something with the embarrassed disgust that colored her face--like that of a daughter having her father drop her off at school in his robe--every time she glanced between William and Slade. Which humiliated him worse than the thought of the men in his squad realizing. Addie was one of the few women, hell people, he'd looked up to in his short and miserable life. The thought of being anything less than a successful and hardworking soldier in her eyes made him feel worse than he had at the start of the day. William must have known.

They moved onto disarming techniques later, working on sparing and how to defend against someone with a knife, gun, or just neutralizing them with a broken arm or wrist. They all know how to do this. It had been one of the first things they learned when they were privates. But William only smiled and said there's nothing wrong with a refresher course.

They all had partners. Until, of course, Trevor was pulled away for a meeting with their superior officers and Slade was left partner-less. William is kind enough to agree to spar with him.

"I know what you're doing," Slade says. William is warming up on the mat, clad in only his undershirt and sweats. Hair still neatly combed back despite the harsh winds that plagued the camp throughout the long, chilly morning hours.

"Me?" William says. "You mean making sure you know how to defend yourself and stay alive in case of an emergency."

"No, you sick bastard," Slade circles him, careful as a mouse regarding a cat. How does no one else see this? That William is so obviously not the man they think he is? He's an SIS agent in the business of lying, but can't they see the intensity behind every carefully calculated movement? It's like watching a robot with an AI that's geared explicitly towards sadomasochism. "But if you want to get your ass beat just for a feel then be my guest."

It's no surprise really that Slade ends up on his back more often then William does. He's twenty-eight to Slade's nineteen with that much more training and coordination in his limbs. Slade doesn't make it a point to try and beat William, he knows that would be the biggest waste of time, and instead tries to rile him up. Just enough to make him angry or frustrated, make him shed that perfect persona and see the feral man beneath it all. Prove to him how alike they are, that William isn't some shining beacon of faultlessness. Doesn't go according to plan. If anything it only makes Slade angrier throughout the course of the exercise. How finely in control of his body and movement William is. Equal parts irritating and attractive, which is extremely bad for Slade because he's trying to work up William. Not fight with a boner straining against the tight confines of his new panties.

William ends up on top of him for the tenth or is it the fifteenth time, holding Slade's arms together behind his back. Slade snarls and writhes under him, a fish out of water when a hand curves around the smarting flesh of his ass. Running along the line where the panties lie hidden beneath.

There's a light puff of breath that tickles across the shell of his ear. The scratch of coarse facial hair on the skin of Slade's cheek as William says, "I don't think you realize how much self-control I have to use not ravish you here in front of everyone." He pauses and turns his lips so they press against the slope of his jawline. "You're torturing me, darling."

"Are you sure this isn't your punishment, Billy?" Slade grins to himself at the sudden intake of breath at the mention of his nickname. "You seem to be suffering a great deal more than I."

"I might have severely underestimated how delectable you'd look this way. Especially with the purple bruising that makes the light pink of your knickers stand out even more. The shyness and tentative staring combined with your coy demeanor in my office left me unable to think let alone work for the entirety of the morning. This was the only way I could imagine getting anything productive done today."

"What, by throwing me into the mat and borderline groping me whenever the men look to the side?" Slade smiles and then hisses as William tugs his arms harder, forcing him up into a more uncomfortable arch to keep his arms in their sockets.

"Well, at least here I can watch you train and imagine all the filthy ways I can debase you tonight while making sure the others brush up on their skills. They were starting to get a bit rusty."

"I particularly enjoyed it when you threw Walsh onto his back." His cock, straining and leaking within the confines of his panties definitely agreed.

"Yes, I assumed you did," William chuckles in his ear. He pulls away, but not without grinding against the cleft of Slade's ass hard enough to awaken a fresh wave of sore aches along his back. Slade sinks his teeth into the disgusting mat to muffle the keen that slips past his lips.

"I do love it when you restrain yourself, Slade," William smiles and calls the men back to order. "Right let’s move onto the next part of the exercise."

What a bastard.

* * *

Trevor catches him on the way out of the mess walking to Billy's office. Because all roads lead to William, there is no way that Steve--who never managed to talk to him outside of bragging about his own prowess over meals and drills--would ever come to speak to Slade on his own free will without meddling. William, big and conniving asshole that he is, might have mentioned something to Steve who's all timid smiles and worries when he confronts him after dinner. Telling him about all this talk about him "not mixing well enough with the unit." As if that wasn't already a big concern before.

"I think therapy could do you wonders," Steve says and Slade nearly rolls his eyes straight out of his skull.

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, it's not my place to judge, but everyone knows that you tend to snap easier around the men and I just think it would benefit you if you had someone to talk to. To work out the anger so you wouldn't have to deal with Wintergreen's reprimands after? Dean told me about the beating he put you through during training and I can't help but think it's because you provoked him during the disciplinary meeting you had with him the night before."

 _Oh, you don't know the half of it, Trevor_. "I'm more than a little offended that you would think I would go as far as to insult a superior officer who was in the middle of issuing me a citation."

"I just know how hard it can be to deal with things like PTSD or anything else. You're not alone, you know that, right Slade?"

Leave it to Trevor to make everything way more uncomfortable than it has to be. "I understand, and I can assure you I'm making adjustments to my behavior but I'm in no need of a therapist. Or anything else, thank you."

"If this happens again, you understand I'll have to intervene, right?" Steve rubs the back of his neck. This, this is why Steve wasn't meant for the role of a superior officer; he doesn't like to be the bad guy. Steve "Fly Boy" Trevor doesn't like yelling at his squad mates. Wants to be the cool guy who gets along with everyone. Slade catches himself already sinking into an irritated scowl, stops himself and sighs.

"I won't," Slade says. Oh, he certainly won't if this is the punishment he gets for being on his worst behavior. Being blue balled by his superior officer all day. "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with said officer."

Steve looks uncomfortable then weary before standing there half-awkwardly that, apparently Slade's gone and made the situation worse for himself despite just saying otherwise. "Right," he says, "well I shouldn't keep you any longer. You're dismissed."

Steve wanders away, every now and then fixing Slade with a suspicious frown over his shoulder. Slade barely waits around. High-tailing it to William's office before Steve can accompany him and do something idiotic. Like, defend him from William. William’s office is mostly empty of other personnel by the time he gets there. Slade's partly inclined to not go at all considering he's two hours late after Steve's "intervention." That and combined with Steve's questioning glances on the way to the office he's a little worried about Steve showing up anyway. However, there's no way for him to change out of the panties and bra without the other men in the barracks seeing. He'll take the privacy of William’s room even if it means doing it in the hallway outside his office.

Slade barely makes it to the door before it's thrown open. William yanks him inside so forcefully he nearly crashes to the floor if it weren't for William's hands suddenly jerking him around and slamming him up against the wall.

"I said don't be late," William says before his mouth is on Slade's neck, sucking and biting with the ferocity of a starving dog.

"Maybe if it weren't for the way you treated me during practice," Slade gasps as William tears open the front of his jacket sending buttons scattering against the carpeted floor. "I wouldn't have been ambushed by Lieutenant-colonel Trevor and been accused of baiting you."

"He's not wrong," William drags his nose along the pulse in Slade's throat. Grinning with shark-like intent against his skin at the stutter of breath. "You were baiting me all day."

"Not the way he thought," Slade grunts, reaching up to help William shuck off his undershirt, leaving him in nothing but the bra above the waist.

William pushes his hands up, tracing fingers along the flower embroidery with a pleased leer. Presses down on the sensitive skin of a nipple beneath the elaborate stitching of a rose and positively beams when Slade arches into the touch. "How cold is it outside, darling?'

"Shut up you fuck," Slade grumbles and shoves William back. He has no intention of going down easy. There was nothing in their arrangement that said Slade had to roll over for William like a trained puppy. Besides what was more fun than having to fight for your prize?

William glares at him with dark eyes. Circling him with calculated intensity, the hint of white teeth peeking out from his panting mouth. "We know how this is going to end, Slade. Come over here and let me help you get undressed."

Slade takes his own step away from the wall towards the center of the room. Unhurriedly moves closer to the desk. Assesses the open space of the room and places to avoid being railroaded into. The walls, for example, would be too helpful in William's conquest. "If you think I'm going to willing roll over for you then you don't know a thing about me."

"I know plenty about you, come over here and let me show you, pet." William beckons him with hand.

They meet in the middle, a flash of frantic punches and eager might. Slade hits William in the jaw as his feet are swept out from underneath him. Rolls out of the way before William can fall on top of him and springs back up with his hands and knees. He's certain this looks strange, fighting in nothing more than his pants and lacy bra with the hint of panties peeking out from past his belt. Doesn't care. Not really anyway, especially with the reckless hunger in William's eyes as he darts around the room trying to snatch Slade right back into his hold.

Body wise? The two of them are on mostly even footing. William is taller than he is, more confident in his movement but where Walsh was heavy and giant, William is lean like a jungle cat with shrewder eyes. He bows out of the way of a sudden kick that would have probably dazed him at best and knock him out for several seconds at worst. Here's another thing, William studied directly under Imre Lichtenfeld while training in Israel making him almost dangerously adept in dismantling his opponents' self-assurance and, possibly, limbs. He doesn't fight like he did earlier during training, refined and held back. Now? Now he attacks Slade with deliberate blows aimed to stun and overpower. Slade only manages to avoid a palm to the nose by grabbing a handful of William's hair and yanking him off balance. Leaps across the table and wrenches the riding crop from the wall.

"Introducing weapons now, are we?" William grins, impeccable silver hair ruined and falling across his eyes. Slade likes that look for him.

"Mostly using this as an excuse," Slade grins and snaps the crop across his knee into two halves before hurling one of them at William's face with the accuracy of a throwing knife. William just ducks out of the way of the first when the second one catches him on the upper arm. William hisses and looks at Slade with a glare that makes his blood run cold and startlingly hot.

"I don't know if that was such a good idea, boy," William says, voice low. He grabs an honorary plaque from the wall and tosses it at Slade. Like an idiot, Slade catches it in surprise and moves to put it down properly on the desk like a good soldier would. William descends on him, wrestling Slade to the ground.

When it comes to hand to hand combat Slade learned the rules like this; the smaller you are the quicker you must be. If a bigger opponent gets you on the ground you have to use flexibility to bend out of a hold and turn it on them or else you will lose overweight every single time. It's how Slade was sometimes able to stay out of Rossi's grasp as a child or miss being hunted down by Falcone's men when he was in a vicious mood. The problem with William is that he has years and muscle over Slade's and, if Slade weren't burning with an overwhelming desire of need, he'd probably be mortified and appalled in equal proportion at how effortlessly William pins him to the ground.

William pants above him, leaning his face down to press his forehead against the sweat-slick skin of Slade's back with a charmed sigh. "You're going to have to pay me back for that."

"You could find a crop in any of the stables on camp it won't be hard to replace," Slade turns his head and grins up at him. The carpet scratches roughly against his cheek. It's a decent diversion to help stop thinking about how badly his cock twitched beneath him.

William peppers light, open mouth kisses across the expanse of his back. Dragging his teeth on the ridge of his shoulder blade. "If I wasn't worried about making you immobile for the next week I'd have you go outside as you are now and find me a switch. Maybe Trevor was right, you do like to vex me don't you?"

"You wouldn't have taken an interest me otherwise." Slade lets his eyes shut. Focuses instead on the heat of William's hand around his wrists, pinning them to the low curve of his back. Slade has never been a fan of touch. Grew up with an excess of beatings and cruelty. Made him mistrust the sight of a raised hand or emotional voice. It also made him tough and accustomed to physical violence. William's right. There's a reason punishment that involves bodily harm do nothing for him. It's as commonplace to him as wetness to water. To truly teach Slade a lesson, on that will stick, William, or any other trainer for that matter, will have to resort to unique means.

And William isn't the type of man to shy away from something so difficult. "I do so appreciate a challenge, I look forward to the day that you can run at least one errand obediently without having the need to question my authority."

"That day won't be for a very long time."

"Who knows, I've made a name for myself breaking more quarrelsome brats then you. It's probably why Lynch contacted me," William drags a hand down the curve of Slade's side. Fingers cleverly teasing along the divots of his ribcage and finally resting along the hard line of his hip. "Because he knew exactly what you needed."

Slade starts as William pinches the skin, and then rubs away the sting with his thumb. "A vulgar senior officer?"

"More like a strong male figure," William murmurs. "After all, I'm not about to sell you out like your father had am I?"

Slade is startled how much that idea appeals to him. Shudders into the length of the carpet and closes his eyes. Pretending to ignore the way the heat pools low in his belly. "Shit."

"That's it, darling," William purrs and flips him onto his back. "That's it."

Slade arches a little off the ground with a groan, ass still a throbbing red underneath his pants and bites down on the tender flesh of his lip. William kisses him with a little sigh and works off his boots then his pants. Sits back when he finishes and runs his eyes leisurely down Slade's lace-clad body. The bulge in his own fatigues unmistakable.

"I wonder what you'd look like in my bed, dressed like a tart, cock straining against the flowery print of your knickers. You make a lovely picture."

Slade glowers. Shame and arousal run hot beneath his skin. He digs his fingers into the carpet to resist the urge to cover himself. "You talk too much."

"I only say what is true," William's gaze softens. "Not many people must have told you how valuable you were growing up did they?"

Slade flushes and turns his head to the side. He'd never heard a word of praise until he'd joined the military. And even then it was so depressingly small. Good job for not eating shit, Wilson. "No," Slade answers honestly and tilts his head back. "No, they didn't."

"Then I'll just have to make up for lost time then won't I?"

"You do and I'll tear out your tongue," Slade deadpans. "Don't think I won't."

"Oh, I know you're quite vicious, but I think I finally found the reward you need to be on your best behavior." William huffs. He leans down, towering over Slade and running his hands along his arms. Turns his palms over and laces them with his own fingers. Grins and settles between Slade's spread thighs and bites along the shell of his ear. Then his jaw with a sharp smile. "Me telling you what a good boy you are."

And if that doesn't make Slade arch his back off the wood floor with a groan, cock twitching within the confines of the tiny panties he doesn't know what will. William turns his face and finally kisses him.

It lasts for barely a second. Slade letting his eyes shut and enjoying the plushness of William's mouth, the scrape of his stubble against his chin. Then, because Slade doesn't know how to handle the rolling nervousness in his stomach at such gentleness, he bites down hard enough on William's mouth to draw blood. William curses and pulls away, saliva and blood glinting until he wipes his mouth.

"Brat," he says. Then kisses him again, hard enough to steal the air right out of his mouth. William pays an extraordinarily unfair amount of attention sucking and biting at the bottom of his lip. Parting every now and then to catch their breath. And whisper a litany of filthy praise into his ear as he strokes Slade through the confines of the panties.

"There you go, darling, breathe into me would you?" And Slade trembles and whines like a girl. Digs his nails into the rough fabric of William's jacket, mumbling curses that William devours like drops of honey. Trails the hand on his hip around his waist and dips it beneath the line of pink place. Spends a long amount of time rubbing a hand along the raw skin of his ass, curling the thin string of lace around his fingers then snapping it back against his hole. He stood up after a moment to pull off his own jacket and shirt and went to the desk, rifling around until he found cleaning lube Slade had seen him use on the decorative guns in the room before.

Slade isn't unaware of how male penetrative sex works. He's never done it. Learned from talk amongst the men that a lot of specific type of slick was needed to make it remotely comfortable. "Is that safe?"

"Would you mind waiting until I found something more suitable?" William asks genuinely.

Slade's cock jerks against the damp panties, already soaked with precum continuously drooling out of the tip. "Get actual lube in the future."

"Of course," William nods. "I wouldn't expect to use anything less with you."

Slade rolls over onto his stomach. William drapes himself across his back. Runs a hand up and down the curve of his spine. Says almost to quiet to hear. "You are an incredible man."

"Stop talking," Slade ducks his head. Thinks of Rossi's smug face to try and cool the burning blush on his cheeks. "Just get on with it."

"Sorry, darling, we'll be doing things my way tonight," William hums. "That includes taking things slow."

"You're a son of a bitch," Slade hisses. William snaps his panties against his ass. "Stop doing that."

"And you are a volatile boy, yet somehow I think you're the most talented officer Camp Washington had to offer us."

"You're ridiculous," Slade bites his lip. Leave it to Billy to use emotions against him. Would have preferred it if there was a lot more fucking and less "high school love confessions." Least then he could focus on the stretch and burn of William's cock rather than the way the praise makes him feel. Which is to say so worryingly vulnerable. William unclips the garter belt and tosses it to an unknown corner of the room. Then, because he's so awfully perverse, grabs the edge of the panties with his teeth and slides them off Slade's legs with an admiring hum.

"I really did a number on you didn't I?" William touches one of the more sensitive bruises. Shushing him as he runs a finger along the half-scabbed over welts, clucking his tongue at the damage. "I'll have Trevor take you off some of the harder drills coming up."

The first finger that slides into him is very cold. It's not painful, yet at least, just odd and a little arousing with how the chill of the lube feels against his hot insides. He closes his eyes and focuses on relaxing. It's easy enough, and William helps him along by rolling his finger around in methodical circles. It's nice. Slade lets his forehead rest against his arms and sighs. The second finger slips in beside the first easily. A little fuller, but nothing he can't handle. If anything it makes the men who complained and whined about it seem like frail children. William coos praise into his ear, kissing along his back with a number of pleased words.

"Look at how you open up for me, remarkable boy," which makes his cock jerk against his stomach more than he'd care to admit. William begins scissoring him and the feeling is not wholly uncomfortable but Slade finds himself struggling to hold onto his arousal despite the praise and attention William gives the sensitive nerves in his neck and back. Then William twists his fingers. Slade nearly whites out.

"There we are," William sounds so terribly pleased with himself. "There we go."

"W-What?" Slade groans as William continues to curl and press his finger inside him. Pleasure, and even that sounds too simple a word for the numbing jolts, races along his legs down to the arch of his feet. His thighs start to tremble and shake under the attention. He whines and grips at the small strands of carpet. Anything to ground himself against William's assault on his sensitive nerves, "what are you doing?"

"Prostate stimulation, darling," William says and then marvels. "Some men don't really react as well as you do, no matter how nice it feels. You're sensitive, unsurprising really considering how emotional you are."

"I still have two fists to load into your face if you continue to talk like that." William laughs. Presses a soft kiss to the fluttering skin of his back.

"I apologize," then, because he was the biggest asshole Slade had ever met besides himself, twists his fingers hard enough it made the world disappear in a haze of pleasant white. He's brought back to himself when a third finger pushes in alongside the two, making him full to the point of pain. He practically drools into the carpet. Panting and whining and groaning while William continues to work them in and out.

"How are you, darling?" William rumbles, voice thick.

Slade responds appropriately, by cursing in at least seven different languages. He thinks he even calls Billy a bread-stealing jackal in Sarcee. William laughs, twisting his fingers. Then pulled them out right on the edge of Slade's oncoming orgasm.

"You fuck," Slade groans. This was absolute torture. William was right, this was a better punishment than anything he had tried the night before.

"Don't be selfish, darling," William beams and unbuckles his own pants. Slade doesn't glance back. Too dazed and shaky from the finger fucking to see William lift a condom packet from his pocket and roll it onto his red cock. Hardly pays attention to anything but making sure he gets enough breath to stop him from going light headed. Which is when William presses his lube-slick cock against the cleft of his ass in abortive, little thrusts. That was a lot bigger than three fingers. William unhurriedly starts pushing inside. Inch by torturous inch. Despite being loosened by fingers the friction and burning stretch leave him breathless. Slade wheezes into the crook of his elbow. Stinging pain, clawing down the length of Slade's body. As if he were nothing more than a number of matches ready to be burned. His eyelashes clump together wetly, a few tears slipping out. Quickly, Slade brushes them away against his arm.

"That's it, breathe Slade. You're alright, you're doing fine."

"Easy enough for you to say," Slade rocks forward, away from William's cock before two hands land on his hips and hold him still. The whine that escapes his mouth is almost too pathetic for a kitten.

"It will get easier, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you." William moves his thumbs in deep, careful circles along the tenses muscles of his back. Pausing and letting Slade adjust for a moment.

"Sure you won't, just impale me on your fucking cock," Slade says and then grits his teeth as William starts to gradually push forward again.

"Easy," William says, voice soft and full of wonder. Slade feels too hot for his skin. William laughs again, rubbing a hand along his back with a comforting coo. "You're doing well."

Slade clings to that praise. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax further and not to clench down.

"There you go, lad, there you go," William pants into his ear and that almost makes the pain worth it if just to hear how wrecked William sounds already.

Then, of course, William finds that spot inside of him and it's all over. Pleasure is a tidal wave crashing down on his head. If he weren't already on his hands and knees he probably might have collapsed. It shakes him all the way down to his toes and leaves him breathless. Struggling to remain upright as William presses against that spot and fully forces himself inside. It's almost too tight a fit.

" _Oh fuck_ ," Slade moans and that's all the permission William needs to pull all the way out and slam right back inside.

He barely lasts longer than a couple minutes. William doesn't give him a chance to force himself into lasting. Reaches a hand around his hip and wraps it around his neglected cock. Stroking him with firm long tugs that leave him keening and mewling into the floor. Slade hasn't exactly had a lot of experience with sexually intimate acts, being a mafia contact and then a military brat at the age of sixteen. William is, in essence, his first and he comes faster than anyone should. Spurting against the carpet in hot, strings of warm cum. Shivering and growling in William's hold.

William chuckles, soft in his ear and sucks a mark into the ridge of his shoulder. "Fast aren't you darling?"

"We can't be the best in everything," Slade whines and rocks back against William, nerves oversensitive. Every drag of William's cock over his raw nerves makes his toes curl. He fumbles a hand back, sinking his nails into the abused flesh of his ass and jerks at the delicious burn. " _Harder_."

William does. Fucks him hard enough it rubs the skin off his knees and elbows until he's nearly lying down. Weeping more than he has since early childhood. William fucks him through another orgasm, dry and painful, too soon it leaves him quaking and trembling on the floor while William sucks dark marks along his side and hips.

Then he finishes, fully seated inside Slade. Groaning lowly as he fills the condom. Rocking through the after-shocks of his orgasm until Slade's nothing but a drooling mess on the carpet, limbs loose and exhausted. He might have blacked out.

Comes to William cleaning him off with a damp towel. Sliding the bra and thigh highs off before redressing him in his boxers and fatigues. Slade helps partially. Lifting his legs when he needs to. He mostly just lays there on the carpet. Fucked-out and exhausted.

"How are you, Slade?"

"Mm," Slade weakly raises a hand to slap William. "Still an asshole."

William grins down at him and helps him back to his feet. "Come on, we have to get you going if you want to make roll call tomorrow on time. If you're a minute late, well, I'm certain I can think of a proper punishment for you."

Slade groans. He's created a monster.


End file.
